Harry Potter and the Final Uprising
by darklights4
Summary: 7 years have passed since Voldemort's downfall, but a new threat is emerging in the wizarding world. Harry finds himself unwittingly plunged into the thick of the conflict and, once again, the fate of the world could be resting on his shoulders...
1. Ambush

_This is an item of FanFiction, and I thereby understand that all the characters contained within my story are property of JK Rowling._

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**1. Ambush**

Harry leapt from his broom, feeling the heat of twenty spells ripple over his head.

Fighting to concentrate, the full moon disappearing through the thick fog of the clouds as he fell, plunging him into near-darkness, Harry twisted in mid-air and felt out for Nothingness – his only chance of safety. But as the familiar pressured feeling of Apparition gripped Harry's body, a blinding flash of yellow light suddenly released him, and he was still accelerating through the black cloud.

The pallid mask of the Death Eater that had blocked Harry's Disapparation loomed from the darkness, grinning in triumph.

"Down here! I've got him!" he roared, diving after Harry through the clouds.

Shutting the impending darkness below and the jeering shouts above from his mind, Harry concentrated as he never had before. He couldn't die now, of all times. He mustn't.

Almost in slow motion, Harry sensed the thoughts of his pursuer and parried the curse before the Death Eater had even opened his mouth to utter an incantation; the force of it knocked him off his broom, but already several more hooded figures were swooping through the gloom to replace him.

"_Accio broom_," thought Harry desperately, a second before soundlessly blocking two fiery jets of air as the wind whistled through his ears and he emerged, soaked, through the dense clouds, racing thick rain droplets to oblivion.

A mass of black figures plunged through the cloud seconds later, their lit wand-tips focussed on Harry like a spotlight. Harry shot Stunning spells into the pack of chasing broomsticks, and one body fell from the group. Several curses shot down in response, but Harry was ready: in one fluid movement he parried two spells aiming directly for his chest, then slashed his wand through the air and three Death Eaters fell off their brooms with anguished cries. But there were too many of them and he was running out of time. Sensing a Killing Curse about to be cast by the nearest one, Harry reached desperately into the air, willing his Firebolt to arrive…

"_Avada Kedavra!_" screamed the Death Eater, but Harry's hand closed around his beloved broomstick just in time to put on an extra spurt of speed, and see the jet of green light miss its mark and be swallowed up in the blackness

The Death Eaters were now closing in above and on every side. There was only one option. Easily outstripping his pursuers, Harry dived, faster than the rain that was splattering against his glasses in the vertical descent. Spells flew wildly past him, making tiny craters as they exploded on the fast-approaching hillside that was now just feet away.

Jerking the nose of his Firebolt up at the last second, Harry rolled sideways off his broom, feeling his back splatter with mud as he surveyed the hell of the heavens through his blurred glasses. Fiery sparks of red and green showered down like falling fireworks from the approaching wand tips of at least fifteen dark wizards.

Aware that he had only seconds to act – not enough time to perform the complex counter-curse for the anti-Disapparation jinx that had been placed upon him – Harry prepared for battle.

Gathering all his strength, he yelled "_Protego maxima_," and drew his wand in a full arc above where he lay. The powerful Shield Charm instantly absorbed a shower of green light, but Harry knew it wouldn't protect him from a Killing Curse. Frantically shooting hot red sparks and hexes randomly into the air, like rapid gunfire, Harry saw a couple of explosions as his spells found their mark, and heard the dull thud seconds later of bodies hitting the ground.

But it was too late. The remaining Death Eaters were landing around Harry, swiftly forming a tight circle. Their leering masks, barely visible under each hooded cloak in the scant wandlight, seemed to foretell the inevitability of death even more than the multitude of raised wands, poised to perform a deadly curse at any second.

"It's over, Potter," growled a voice that Harry found vaguely familiar. "Did you really think you stood a chance against all of us? The Dark Lord will at last be avenged."

Harry sprang to his feet, but before he could muster the strength to mount his final defence, several things happened at once. A loud _crack_ punctuated the spattering rain and in a flash of long red hair someone materialised next to Harry out of thin air; a strangled cry of "Kill him!" simultaneously rent the biting breeze and Harry felt his invisible defence barrier shatter by a spell that missed his face by inches as he instinctively ducked.

"Ginny," breathed Harry, adrenaline coursing through his veins as his heart seemed to stop. The Death Eaters, momentarily stunned by Ginny's sudden appearance, hesitated.

"Kill them!" Harry heard, and the last thing he saw before Ginny's warm hand guided him into Nothingness was a flash of green light.


	2. Respite

**2.**** Respite**

Ginny was shaking.

"Harry! Harry! Are you OK?"

Attempting to grasp the fact that he was sprawled over his kitchen floor, his drenched, muddy robes sticking to the tiles, Harry straightened up, still pumping with adrenaline, and surveyed the pale face of his wife.

"Ginny – I – you shouldn't – how…?"

Ginny nodded to the large clock suspended above the kitchen sink, where large dials labelled 'Harry' and 'Ginny' rested on 'Home'.

"It was pointing to 'Mortal Peril' a minute ago," she said. "I was scared, Harry. I don't know how I did it, but I knew I needed to find you."

"But you could have died…the baby…you shouldn't have," breathed Harry, shivering.

Ginny took Harry's hand softly, spreading warmth from her fingertips. "I would have thought you, of all people, would understand why a child needs its parents. We're in this together, Harry. I won't lose you, and nor will the baby. We're going to be a family."

Harry wanted nothing more than to kiss Ginny, to tell her how much those words meant to him, to thank her for saving his life – but now was not the time. He was already on his feet pacing the kitchen, his Auror instincts taking over.

"I'll have to inform the Minister, straight away," said Harry, running his fingers through his messy hair. "Death Eaters…at least twenty of them…"

"They must have escaped from Azkaban?" said Ginny quietly.

"Maybe…but there aren't that many left, are there? And I've heard nothing of a breakout, so unless it happened tonight, it looks like some new ones have joined the club." Harry paused, remembering something. "One of them spoke to me. I recognised his voice; I just can't quite place it." He continued pacing, a little frustrated.

But Ginny was now frowning. "Harry, I don't understand why you were out there in the first place. We were in bed – and next thing, I wake up to find you not there. I was worried. And you can imagine how I felt when I came down here to find out you were in mortal peril…"

Harry stopped his pacing and looked momentarily disarmed. "Well, you know me, Gin. I like to go flying if something's on my mind. And – well – the good news – about the baby…" Harry trailed off looking embarrassed. "But you're right – I should have at least told you where I was going."

He had never told Ginny about his occasional night-time flying habits. He shared everything with Ginny, but sometimes he considered flying to be a private, almost spiritual, activity – especially when he wanted time alone to ponder something.

"Oh," said Ginny, looking slightly affronted. "Er – are you sure you're happy, Harry, about – about the baby?"

"You know I am, love." Harry took her hand and squeezed it. I could probably make the world's most powerful Patronus right now. That's why I went flying – it almost…adds to the magic of the occasion."

Ginny's face cracked into a wide smile and she kissed Harry, who suddenly forgot everything that had just happened in a moment of bliss. Pulling Ginny closer to him, kissing her back fiercely, the realisation hit him, harder than ever, of just how much he loved her.

"Thanks for rescuing me," said Harry softly, running his finger down a strand of Ginny's hair that framed her beautiful face.

"You don't know how scared I was, Harry," whispered Ginny. "I'd forgotten how it felt, knowing I could lose you. I don't even remember trying to Apparate – it just sort of happened when I started panicking. I just knew I needed to find you. And next thing, I was by your side."

Harry saw a small tear leak from her brown eye. Marvelling at Ginny for a piece of magic he had never even heard of before, he kissed her again: slowly, reassuringly. Time seemed to stand still. It could have been a matter of seconds or many minutes later when Ginny eventually drew away, and Harry's memory of why he was stood in the dark kitchen with sodden robes in the middle of the night gradually ebbed back into his consciousness.

"I'll have to go to the Ministry," sighed Harry, releasing Ginny's hand. I need to request an emergency meeting with the Minister."

Ginny nodded in resignation as Harry glanced out of the rain-slashed window into the skies over Godric's Hollow.

"They must be patrolling the area," muttered Harry. "Stay inside – you'll be safe here. They all think I'm as paranoid as old Mad-Eye was back in his day, at the office, for having a Secret-Keeper. But I knew something like this would happen sooner or later."

Harry shook his head and pointed his wand at himself, and with one smart flick performed a Drying Charm – restoring warmth to his soaking clothes. He stepped towards the mantelpiece and took a pinch of Floo Powder.

"Hang on, you've still got mud all over your back," said Ginny, who aimed her wand with a mutter of "_Scourgify_."

"Thanks, Gin."

Harry ignited the empty fireplace with his wand, scattered the Floo Powder, and gave Ginny one last smile before stepping into the fire, stating "Auror Headquarters," and allowing himself to be swallowed up in the emerald-green flames.


	3. Shacklebolt and Savage

**3. Shacklebolt and Savage**

The only access to the Minister's home, by Floo Powder, was through a few select fireplaces within the Ministry itself; and the Head Auror's office contained one such fireplace. As there was no time to send owls, this meant Harry had only one option.

Igniting the lamps of the large spacious chamber that was the Auror Headquarters, his place of work, Harry delved into an inner pocket of his robes for a single gold galleon. Silently marvelling at Hermione's genius of inventing the thing in her fifth year that would become the standard means of emergency communication amongst future Aurors, Harry tapped his coin with his wand, forming the message 'Place: HQ, Time: Now'.

He knew that several witches and wizards would presently be yelping in their sleep as their galleons burned against their skin, but the Aurors knew they weren't signing up for an average nine-to-five job when they joined. Still, emergency out-of-hours meetings had been scarce since the fall of Voldemort. The last seven years had been peaceful – a time of harmony and rebuilding in the wizarding world. Until now, thought Harry grimly.

Suddenly, green flames shot up from one of the many fireplaces set into the wall and Harry's best friend emerged, his Auror robes inside out, puffy-eyed and with his ruffled red hair stuck up on one side.

"Harry!" said Ron, stumbling forward and rubbing his eyes. "Whassamater? Where is everyone?"

Before Harry could begin to explain, more emerald flames shot up, and within seconds the wall of fireplaces had transformed into a line of sporadic green explosions as the whole Auror department, each face pale but wary, spilled into the room. Moments later, all heads turned to the centre of the chamber where Rigel Savage, the Head Auror, emerged from his office, his sharp blue eyes sparkling in the lamplight as they swiftly swept the room, searchingly.

"Well?" barked Savage. "I hope there's a good reason for this. Who sent the message?"

"I did," said Harry, feeling his cheeks redden slightly as everyone turned to look at him. "Rigel, we need to wake the Minister too."

"What is the problem?"

"I was attacked," said Harry simply. "I'll explain everything when the Minister joins us. It's a waste of time to tell the story twice. Time is of the essence."

Savage eyed Harry contemptuously. Harry didn't need Legilimency to know what was going through his head. Savage hated being told what to do, least of all by the man most of his team looked upon with something bordering on reverence. But if Harry's story was true, now was not the time to make petty demands for respect.

"Very well," snapped Savage, turning on his heels back into his office.

"Blimey, you were attacked?" muttered Ron.

Harry nodded but remained silent. There wasn't much chance of a private conversation with fifty curious heads pointed in his direction.

A few awkward minutes passed before the crackling of a fire sounded from within Savage's office, and seconds later the majestic frame of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, entered the chamber, Savage hurrying along in his wake.

Kingsley had the rare talent of exuding calmness wherever he went. The expectant, tense atmosphere in the room seemed to visibly relax as he strolled smoothly through the threshold. His powerful aura was almost tangible, and nothing about his sleek, midnight-blue robes or collected, alert expression betrayed the fact that a minute earlier he had been sleeping.

"Harry," said Kingsley, allowing a short bow. "Rigel tells me you've been attacked. Is this true?"

"Yes, Minister."

Harry cleared his throat and began to recount the night's events, uncomfortably omitting the part about why he had been outside in the first place, as if going flying on a night like this was a perfectly normal thing to do to.

Trying to ignore the stunned looks on some of his audience's faces as he recounted leaping from his broom and fighting a small army of wizards in freefall, Harry reached the part of his story where the familiar-sounding voice had spoken to him… "And he said something about avenging Voldemort by killing me," Harry finished.

"So they were definitely Death Eaters, then?" said Savage, with little effort to hide the sarcastic tone in his voice. .

"Almost certainly," said Harry obstinately. "As I said, they were masked like Death Eaters, they were well organised, and they were clearly fighting in Voldemort's name. They were skilled, too; some of them used Killing Curses and they were very good fliers."

"Death Eaters, back again?" said Savage, wearing a twisted smile now. "The Death Eaters were dedicated followers of You-Know-Who. He's gone – so they've gone. Whoever it is we're dealing with, they can't be followers of someone who's dead. Madmen who bear a grudge and know some Dark Magic – yes, perhaps; Death Eaters – no…" Savage looked smugly at Harry as if he had just explained a very simple thing to a child.

But Kingsley was shaking his head slowly. "Voldemort's absence, in the long run, is irrelevant as long as the sentiments remain of what he tried to promote. His death was a setback for his followers, to be sure, but as long as wizards seek after the ideals put forward by Voldemort's agenda – the supremacy of pure-bloods for example – it is not at all implausible that more Death Eaters should arise, even if Voldemort is no longer around to recruit them. Voldemort started a movement, and it would be naïve to presume that his death alone would halt its progress."

Savage looked as though he had swallowed a large bottle of bubotuber puss.

"The most pertinent question," Kingsley continued, "is why these Death Eaters were waiting to ambush Harry. I understand you have the Fidelius Charm placed on your house, Harry?"

Harry nodded and Kingsley continued. "So they have obviously gone to the trouble of patrolling Harry's known whereabouts, waiting for a chance to strike. Why reveal themselves in this way? Why would this be their first move?"

To everyone's surprise, not least Harry's, Ron was the first to speak out. "Well it's obvious, isn't it, Minister? Like you said, if Death Eaters have returned they would have a purpose. They had more on their minds than just avenging Voldemort. Think what Harry represents to our world – if they killed him, people would panic. It would destabilise us. There would be chaos." Ron's ears were pink, but there were murmurs of agreement round the room.

"That makes sense," said Kingsley, nodding slowly. "Killing Harry would not only remove a symbol of fear for the Death Eaters, but send the rest of us into disarray. It would be the perfect diversion if they wanted to mount an attack on the Ministry, stage a breakout from Azkaban, attack people, or whatever else they could be planning. I have received no news from Azkaban of a breakout, so for now we must presume these Death Eaters are indeed unknown and not part of the old circle."

"Well if we're right in thinking Potter's attack was meant as a diversionary tactic, Minister, then we must act swiftly," said Savage, who seemed to have swallowed his pride and was now thoughtfully rubbing the dark stubble of his chin. "Potter escaped their attempt; they know they are now exposed, so if they had any plans, they'll be executing them sooner rather than later. They'll know it's only a matter of time before everything is on high security. They've shown their hand and now they can't back down."

Kingsley looked deep in thought. After a moment of silence he said, "Our first priority must be to reinforce the guards at Azkaban. If these new Death Eaters are joined by Voldemort's oldest supporters, they could be very dangerous indeed."

"Take a battalion of your best Aurors to Azkaban, Rigel," continued Kingsley, still remarkably calm, his deep voice slow and powerful. "I doubt they would make a move on the Ministry without further support, but we cannot be sure. I want each Head of Department within the Ministry to be escorted by a pair of Aurors as a precaution, and the remaining Aurors should attempt to gather intelligence about the identity of Harry's attackers. In the meantime, I will alert the _Daily Prophet _and make an announcement to the Ministry in the morning. We will assemble again tomorrow when we have a clearer picture of what is happening."

Kingsley made to leave, and Savage began barking orders as people started bustling about. On his way to the door, Kingsley paused next to Harry.

"You did well," said Kingsley quietly, shaking Harry's hand. "You continue to prove to your doubters that you are more than just a famous name."

Kingsley gave a small bow and left through the main entrance, presumably in the direction of his office. Before Harry could begin to feel pleased with himself, Savage was marching towards him with a rather ugly look on his face.

"You too, Potter," he grunted grudgingly, motioning Harry to join a group of fifteen senior Aurors assembling at the far end of the chamber, evidently preparing to depart for Azkaban immediately.

Harry glanced around for Ron, trying to catch his eye, but he was already being put into a different group of more junior Aurors, who would presumably soon be generating suspect lists of the new band of Death Eaters. Harry often hoped Ron didn't begrudge his higher status within the Auror department. Ron had only become an Auror two years ago; Harry, on the other hand, had joined the Auror department at the age of seventeen and risen quickly through the ranks ever since. Ron had always been touchy about Harry's higher popularity and praise since their schooldays, and Harry wasn't positive things had changed to this day.

Savage's rasping voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. Trying not to let his wearied mind stray to Ginny, hoping she'd understand if he wasn't back by morning, Harry listened to the battle plan being detailed in the event of encountering trouble.

After muttering the counter-curse to the anti-Disapparation jinx that had been placed on him just a couple of hours ago – but it felt like an age – Harry joined the line of Aurors and marched through a secret passageway that led directly to the Atrium, the only place within the Ministry where Apparition was possible. Each Auror grabbed a sleek broomstick from a store cupboard on their way out, and Harry realised with a pang of horror that his old, trusted Firebolt was currently lying, abandoned, on a dark hillside somewhere, probably hundreds of miles away – or else was in the hands of one of those Death Eaters.

He had little time to ruminate on the matter, however, as Savage was now issuing his final orders, and next moment Harry was turning on the spot before vanishing into thin air, his mind solely focussed on the fortress of Azkaban.


	4. Azkaban

**4. Azkaban**

Harry could taste the salt borne in the air with the perpetual, freezing spray of seawater, as mighty black waves pummelled the huge, teeth-like rocks encircling the small island. Set in the centre – visible by a purplish haze that mysteriously emanated from each individual block of basalt that formed its seamless, smooth walls – was the fortress of Azkaban. It wasn't raining, but the sky was starless; a faint, grey tinge on the eastern horizon was the only evidence that the sky and sea didn't just converge into one dark conflux.

The group of Aurors were already moving. Punching the darkness as one with light from their wand tips, six Aurors peeled from the main group and began circling the island on their brooms; Harry, on the other hand, flanked Savage with the remaining Aurors as they proceeded swiftly towards a small, stone building set beside the main fortress; Azkaban itself had no physical entrance and the only access was via a magical gateway within the outhouse.

A few paces from the roughly hewn door, Savage halted his team and conjured an eagle Patronus, which flew straight through the stone and delivered a message to the guard wizards within. Harry stood with the other Aurors, shivering, waiting for their welcome.

The door didn't open.

Seconds dragged by…

Interrupted only by the rhythmic pounding of the waves, the silence was absolute, penetrating the air almost tangibly. Harry wasn't sure if it was just the tension of the silence, but he thought he could sense traces of magic – a faint, tingling aura seemed to permeate everything, from the faint drizzle of spray in the wind to the impending silence itself. Something was wrong.

"Blasting spells," murmured Savage without moving his lips. "Aim for the door."

Harry was a little surprised at this tactic; the Death Eaters could be inside Azkaban breaking prisoners out, or even standing guard in the outpost at this very second. Entering by stealth was surely the most sensible option…

Savage obviously didn't think so. "Now!" he roared.

Harry and nine other wizards jabbed their wands in unison, with a cry of "_Confringo!"_ ; the thick, stone door shattered with a huge explosion, as if made of glass, leaving only a thick cloud of rubble amongst the strewn debris.

The Aurors entered the threshold with haste, coughing as they inhaled the dense dust; nothing was visible.

"Will someone take care of this damn smoke," came Savage's voice from somewhere in the gloom.

As the other Aurors began to siphon the dust with their Vanishing Charms, Harry's foot connected with something on the ground, almost making him lose his balance. Something soft.

Adrenaline invaded his veins like poison as he peered down through the clearing air and saw, with a hot surge of dread, the outline of a human body emerging at his feet – and it wasn't the only one.

Gasps replaced the dust as the terrible scene met their eyes. The bodies of what appeared to be the entire wizard guard of Azkaban littered the large stone chamber. Some were still staring, lifelessly, though a shadow of terror lingered on their rigid faces; others lay face down, their bodies covered in hex marks, some of their robes still faintly singeing from burns; and others, Harry noticed numbly, were bathed in dark pools of blood, their robes gashed in several places, their skin chalk-white.

Though he had suspected a break in, Harry couldn't have been prepared for this. The only other time he had seen so many dead bodies at once was at Hogwarts seven years ago. Harry felt like he had returned to an old nightmare – the days of fearing for the lives of his loved ones, of co-existing inexorably with the threat of death, had been the scar of a horrific past, a relic of some previous life, until this moment. His attack earlier that night had certainly been rattling, but only now did Harry understand the sickening reality, as if the corpses on the floor were radiating it.

It took a few moments for Savage to react. "Proudfoot," he choked. "Go back to the Ministry. We need reinforcements."

One of the Aurors swept through the empty doorframe into the darkness, and a second later Disapparated.

Harry stood in silence. Some of the other Aurors were fidgeting uncomfortably, determinedly gazing away from the bodies; others were casting their eyes about sharply, their fingers twitching on their outstretched wands as if fearing imminent attack; Harry, on the other hand, simply looked into the lifeless eyes of the victims.

Was this his fault? If he had acted sooner, or killed more of his attackers earlier on, would these people's lives have been spared? Harry consoled himself with the fact that fifteen dark wizards alone surely couldn't have massacred the thirty-strong guard in this chamber – whoever had done this were surely not Harry's pursuers earlier on…not that this was much cause for comfort, thought Harry dimly.

The sight of one of the bodies plucked him from his thoughts. One of the unmarked, staring faces a little way into the chamber belonged to Lavender Brown, an old classmate, who had joined the newly formed Azkaban Security Branch in the aftermath of Voldemort's fall and the banishment of the Dementors. Harry tried not to think of Seamus, whom Lavender had married just last year…

A few minutes had passed when a sudden series of _cracks_ sounded from somewhere outside. Harry pointed his wand automatically toward the empty door frame, but a second later a massive, silvery bear Patronus appeared and said, in Proudfoot's deep voice, "I'm back with the reinforcements. Don't attack."

Seconds later, a troop of about twenty wizards were slipping into the chamber. Harry didn't recognise most of them, so presumed they were Hit Wizards: a separate department from the Aurors who were highly trained in duelling only; if the Aurors were the brains, the Hit Wizards were the brawn. Harry had never needed to work with them before.

Savage took a few careful steps into the chamber, avoiding the bodies, and turned to address the mass of congregated wizards and witches.

"Well, we don't know if the bastards who did this have already escaped, or if they're breaking the prisoners out right now," said Savage, his voice more a growl than a whisper. "If they're still inside, we want them alive if possible. If we are being overwhelmed, you have permission to use whatever force necessary. Understand?"

Harry understood perfectly. Savage was authorising them to use _Avada Kedavra_, the only Unforgivable Curse Harry had never used – and he had decided a long time ago that he never would; having grown up dreaming of terrible green flashes and screams, which he later learned to be the memory of his parents being murdered, Harry had come to subconsciously associate the Killing Curse with everything he fought against – it seemed the epitome of evil.

Savage was still giving instructions. "We can only enter the fortress three at a time, and they could be guarding the entrance which would make us sitting ducks, so three Hit Wizards will enter first. If the coast is clear, they will return and then we will proceed in small groups; if they do not return, we wait here, call for more reinforcements and siege the fortress."

Three Hit Wizards obligingly stepped forwards and approached a great marble archway at the far side of the chamber. While the rest of the wall around the room was dull stone-grey, the wall-space behind the archway emitted a similar faint, throbbing purple tinge to the walls of Azkaban.

The Hit Wizards stepped through the archway and, upon disappearing into the apparently solid wall, a jet of black flames suddenly shot across the surface of the archway and cascaded inwards, blocking the entrance. Harry momentarily discerned the words _ligatio est vindico _burningacross the arc in white lettering against the black fire, before the flames disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived.

A few tense seconds later, the three Hit Wizards reappeared and declared the way clear.

"Very well," said Savage. "Form groups of three and enter in turn."

What did this mean? Had the new Death Eaters already rejoined the prisoners and escaped?

Harry – flanked by another Auror, Dawlish, and a Hit Wizard with short, dark hair and a scarred face – was the first to step through the archway. Walking straight into the purple wall, much as one would access platform nine and three quarters, Harry immediately found himself exiting a twin archway into a huge black-walled room, dimly lit by sparse torches protruding from the walls at random intervals. He had entered Azkaban.

When the entire party had assembled in the Entrance Chamber, they unceremoniously crammed into a generously proportioned lift set in the centre of the room. There was a hole in the high-ceilinged roof above, though no sign of anything that could suspend the lift.

"Welcome to Azkaban," said a cool, female voice, sounding identical to the voice within the lifts at the Ministry. "Please state your destination."

"Level Five – High Security Prisoners," responded Savage.

The lift soundlessly began its ascent. Harry held gripped his wand, concentrating, in case the Death Eaters were still there, waiting at the top. His gut feeling, though, was that they were too late. Right now those deadly, new Death Eaters were probably housing Voldemort's remaining followers, nursing them back to strength, plotting to overthrow the Ministry perhaps…

The lift halted and the doors slid open. As Harry entered a large, spacious room with the other Aurors – identical to the Entrance Chamber but for the fact that barred cells lined the walls – a sight met his eyes that was beyond anything he had expected.

The prisoners hadn't escaped. They were dead.


	5. The Day After

**5. The Day After**

Harry approached one of the barred cells without realising he was even moving; his legs seemed to be thinking faster than his brain. He instantly recognised the body in this cell: the long, twisted face, paler than usual in death, belonged to Antonin Dolohov, one of Voldemort's closest former Death Eaters. He was unmistakably dead – his unblemished body and open, lifeless eyes bore testament to the Killing Curse.

Why? Harry couldn't comprehend the logic of breaking into Azkaban to murder what would surely be a natural ally…

Judging by the silence from the other Aurors, they were as lost for words as Harry. Savage, usually so self-assured, was examining the dead form of Walden Macnair a few cells along, his blue eyes jerking from side to side under his slanted eyebrows, as if trying to spot some sort of trick.

"Check they're dead," snapped Savage, finally seeming to remember where he was.

Harry tapped his wand against Dolohov's door, thinking "_Alohomora"_, and – with a feeling of revulsion – crouched down and touched Dolohov's unshaven, prickly neck. There was certainly no pulse and his skin was cool to the touch.

This man had almost killed Hermione when Harry had only been in his fifth year at school, and had committed several hideous crimes to earn his place in this prison; but Harry could only feel a mixture of repulsion and pity at the sight of Dolohov's lifeless, shrunken eyes and thin, starved-looking face.

Harry felt so overwhelmed by the events of his night that all he could do was stare at Dolohov for a while, blankly… was it ultimately Voldemort that had caused this dead man to be lying there, in this cell, he thought dimly. Or could it perhaps be accredited to a bad upbringing, peer pressure, or a troubled youth? Had Dolohov simply chosen to become the man that he had been? Harry couldn't help but recall Dumbledore's words to him all those years ago that had resonated with him ever since: _It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities_. But people can change, thought Harry, as Snape and Regulus Black's faces formed in his mind's eye. Whether this man, Dolohov, would ever have had a change of heart was now a mystery…

Harry's musings were interrupted by the clattering doors of the lift opening at the centre of the chamber, announcing the arrival of some Aurors Savage had sent to check on the other prisoners.

"Rigel," said Proudfoot, one of the Aurors exiting the lift, "the others are all alive. They seemed surprised to even see us, said they claimed they didn't know anything was going on."

Savage nodded once. "Well, each level is sound-proof so they are probably telling the truth. The scum who came here obviously knew where they were going."

There was one final pause before Savage said, "There's nothing more we can do here. The bodies can be arranged to be moved later; we must first report what has happened, immediately."

Harry, the other Aurors and the Hit Wizards, in sombre silence, retraced their steps through the wizarding gaol, back through the horrific murder scene in the outhouse, and arrived on to the rocky island.

The grey tinge that had beset the eastern horizon earlier had now transformed into a crimson blaze, though the heavy clouds filtered only a pink, ethereal illumination on the rest of the sky. A thin breeze was all that remained of the cruel wind, but the sea was still choppy, casting its chill waves uncertainly against the jagged rocks. Without noticing any of this, Harry turned on the spot and disappeared with his colleagues into the near-darkness of the rising dawn.

* *

Kingsley smashed his fist against the table.

"We are blind!" he cried, each syllable weighted with a fearsome intensity.

It was ten in the morning and Harry was sat in Kingsley's office, having been requested to join an emergency meeting for senior Ministry employees. Kingsley's unprecedented fury had not only startled each Head of Department huddled around the large oak table, but all the portraits of previous Ministers donning the lilac walls, too, were rapt in their attention.

"All these years," said Kingsley, his voice slow but booming, "we presumed we were coexisting in harmony. We had no inkling that even one among our community was a remaining supporter of evil. There have been no serious arrests in seven years. And this day, we find ourselves confronted with not one, but what appears to be an army of Death Eaters, or whatever these people are. How did this happen?"

Kingsley paused, and judging from the ensuing silence his question was not simply rhetorical.

"Minister, if we consider the apparent sheer number of this opposition, perhaps it suggests what is really happening," offered Gawain Robards, Head of Magical Law Enforcement. "Last night Azkaban was breached, and thirty guards and five Griffins – which themselves might as well count as fifty wizards – were slain. At what appears to be the same time, twenty of their number were patrolling the skies above Potter's house. I'd estimate that they are at least one hundred strong in total, maybe more, and I simply cannot believe that this many wizards and witches have been secretly conspiring without our notice. Surely, we are seeing the work of few with the influence of many. The majority must be under the Imperius Curse."

"Unlikely," said Pius Thicknesse, Kingsley's Senior Undersecretary. "It takes a very powerful wizard to control multiple wizards at once for a sustained period of time. And even if each caster of the Imperius Curse was able to control two victims each, we would still be faced with over thirty true Death Eaters…"

"If I may, Minister," interjected Percy Weasley, who had recently been promoted to Head of International Magical Cooperation, "I believe we shouldn't discount the possibility of foreign involvement, if it indeed seems unlikely these wizards are home grown."

"Again, unlikely," said Thicknesse. "There have been no coups or known unrest abroad recently. There would be no reason for them to begin trouble here, and moreover only British wizards, possibly within the Ministry, would know Potter's area of residence or the whereabouts of Azkaban."

Harry felt this a pertinent moment to join the discussion. "When the Death Eaters cornered me, one of them spoke to me, saying something about avenging Voldemort. He definitely didn't sound foreign and I'm almost certain I recognised the voice from somewhere."

Kingsley nodded in agreement.

"I think, for now, we must assume that some of our own British wizards are part of this new organisation, of their own free will," said Kingsley, his voice a little calmer, though his dark eyes were still blazing. "We must ask ourselves under what banner they are united. What is their common goal, and why attack Potter and go to such great lengths to murder Voldemort's old Death Eaters? What would they hope to gain by doing this?"

After a short pause, Robards said, "I see only two explanations, Minister. Either they are hardcore Voldemort fanatics, who simply wanted to avenge everyone they considered responsible for their hero's death; or, they considered the imprisoned Death Eaters, and possibly Potter, to be some sort of threat that they had to eliminate, in order to further their cause – whatever that may be."

"Well, we must prepare for the worst," said Kingsley. "We must presume this wasn't a random series of attacks, but that there was a deeper purpose to them. In the immediate future we must alert the public to be vigilant, send leaflets about basic household safety, have transparency with the _Daily Prophet_; we learnt last time round that vigilance is preferable to simply not acting for fear of an outspread of panic. If everyone is on the alert, it will be that much harder for these neo-Death Eaters, if you will, to carry out whatever plans they have in mind."

A series of nods passed around the cluttered table in agreement.

Harry only half-listened to the remainder of the meeting; his lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him, and his mind could only drift to his home, to Ginny, hoping that she was safe, in between his conscious effort to resist his drooping eyelids. It came as a relief when the meeting came to its conclusion and Harry was permitted to have the rest of the day off in the aftermath of his sleepless night.

* *

Ginny drew the curtains as Harry got into bed.

It was still light outside, though the onset of twilight was swiftly approaching in the weak November sun.

Harry had spent the afternoon with Ginny, alone, explaining what had happened since he left for the Ministry, and later discussing their plans for the future. Ginny had agreed to temporarily quit her role as Chaser in the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team after their final match of the season next week, in light of her pregnancy.

They had also begun to amuse themselves talking about possible names for the baby – until Harry began to nod off, and Ginny, also tired, insisted they both went to bed.

Ginny slipped on her pyjamas and crawled into bed, cuddling close to Harry.

Harry lay there for a second, contented, savouring the warmth and peace that he could only feel when he was with his wife.

"No sneaking off tonight, Harry, agreed?" whispered Ginny, kissing his cheek softly.

Harry nodded drowsily, and after a few moments Ginny resumed whispering.

"Whoever these idiots are who tried to kill you, whatever happens, we're going to get through this, Harry, I promise… and in a few months, we'll still be here, but with a beautiful baby. Isn't that weird?"

Harry smiled. "I love you, Gin."

"I love you too, Harry, and I always will."

Harry grinned and, feeling completely at peace with the world, drifted finally into unconsciousness in the arms of his wife.

In no time though, a mass of hooded figures were suddenly swooping towards the window.

"No!" bellowed Harry. "How did you find us?"

One of the cloaked wizards clambered through the window, his wand raised. Harry reached into his robes for his wand and screamed "_Expelliarmus_!"

Nothing happened.

"Oh, _please_," sneered the hooded man, with the same familiar sounding voice as Harry's attacker from the previous night. "I don't think _Expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help you against me."

"It's saved my life before," said Harry, baffled at why his spell didn't work, preparing to cast another.

But before he could do anything, Harry was falling and the hooded man's mask leered down from above, still jeering, "I don't think _Expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help you…"

Harry was about to hit the ground. The dark hillside was about to break his bones if the masked men above didn't kill him first…

"NOOO!"

With a jolt, Harry sat up, drenched in cold sweat. He was still in bed and Ginny was stirring. He scanned the room, half expecting to see a hooded man, or hear the swish of a cloak. But Harry slowly became aware that he had returned to reality – it was real…just a dream…

He lay back down, feeling a little foolish. Ginny was thankfully still asleep. Harry could still hear the taunting voice of the Death Eater in his head – 'I don't think _Expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help you.'

And then it clicked. Harry realised, in one moment of dawning comprehension, who had spoken to him last night before trying to kill him. But no – it couldn't be…


	6. Realisations

**6.** **Realisations**

Zacharias Smith?

The idea seemed ludicrous, but Harry was almost certain.

Zacharias had been a somewhat reluctant member of the DA in Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts, but although he had always been sceptical, rude and obnoxious, Harry could never have envisaged him as a Death Eater…

What did this mean? Smith was in Hufflepuff during his schooldays, and despite his cantankerous nature Harry had never had reason to believe he was an active supporter of Voldemort. Perhaps Robards was right about people being Imperiused, thought Harry; or maybe Smith had simply subscribed to this new, dangerous group for reasons unknown.

Harry contented himself with the realization that he needn't call any emergency meetings for this. No, he would have a quiet word with Kingsley in the morning about it. Harry allowed himself to drift into what, this time, was a dreamless sleep.

* *

"Zacharias Smith? Are you sure, Harry?"

Hermione cast aside her copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and peered at Harry over her goblet of pumpkin juice. It was lunch break and Harry, Ron and Hermione were sat at their usual table in the corner of the Ministry's refectory.

"Pretty sure," replied Harry, glancing at Hermione's newspaper to see a picture of his own face on the front page. He couldn't say it felt good to be back in the limelight again; everyone at the Ministry, apart from the Aurors, had been glancing at him all morning and muttering behind their hands to each other as if he couldn't hear. It was like being back at Hogwarts.

"You do know that Zacharias works in my department, Harry?" said Hermione. "I must say, he was one of the only opponents – along with Mummy and Daddy who no doubt got him his job in the first place – when we pushed the final Anti-Pro-Pureblood Laws through a couple of years ago. Maybe that's what all this is about: blood status again. Though why it would help them to kill you and the old Death Eaters, I don't know…"

Ron had been looking sceptical ever since Smith's name was mentioned, but Harry didn't care; Ron had not shown any sign of annoyance so far at all the attention Harry was getting, and Harry appreciated this. Thankfully, Ron seemed to understand how Harry had almost been killed and wasn't showing any signs of bitterness.

"Look, I know Zacharias is a git and everything," said Ron, taking a huge bite into a sausage roll. "But, come on, I can't see him risking his neck to try and make some point about pure-bloods. I mean, he was in Hufflepuff…"

"Ron, you can't presume Harry's wrong just because Smith was in Hufflepuff," snapped Hermione. "The Sorting process is a very arbitrary event and people make too many generalizations and judgments about it. Look at Snape and Pettigrew, for example – in the end they both chose completely different paths to their house stereotypes."

"Blimey 'Er-my-nee," said Ron, his mouth full of potato now. He took a big swallow and continued, "I didn't ask for an essay about the Sorting Hat. Anyway, I'm just saying, apart from the odd exception, it doesn't take a genius to realise that most of the old Death Eaters were Slytherins."

"So have you told anyone about this, Harry?" asked Hermione, after shooting a quick glare at Ron.

"Not yet, but I'm going to have a quick word with Kingsley this afternoon. I'm not going to Savage – knowing him, he'll march straight into the Magical Law Office and start demanding alibis for Smith. I'm hoping Kingsley will agree that it would be best to spy on him for a while, see what he's up to. We've got an advantage as long as they think we don't know who any of them are."

"True," said Hermione. "But it makes you wonder, doesn't it – how many other Ministry workers could be in on it? If they're planning to take over the Ministry, they're probably very well placed to do so if Smith's involvement is any precedent."

At that moment, Harry glanced up and saw Zacharias Smith himself enter the Refectory. Their eyes met, and for a split second Harry thought Zacharias was reaching for his wand – but next moment he was withdrawing a few Sickles from a pocket in his robes and had averted his eyes to the witch serving Cauldron Cakes. He then took a seat with two people Harry recognized from Hogwarts: Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott, both of whom had been in Slytherin.

Ron, following Harry's gaze, noticed Smith sat with the Slytherins, and gave a large snort. "OK mate, forget I ever doubted you," he said, as if Smith's company proved beyond all doubt where his allegiances lay.

Harry was too lost in thought to notice Hermione glaring at Ron again.

Zacharias Smith had never been friends with Nott or Greengrass at school. Did this mean that they were indeed acquaintances in this group of neo-Death Eaters? Although Ron had put it very bluntly, Harry thought he had a point; he wouldn't put it past any Slytherin to be involved in a group like the Death Eaters. Harry glanced round the Refectory, wondering how many of the other people sat around him had been out on their broomsticks pursuing him two nights ago, or else murdering people in Azkaban. He certainly hoped that Smith and the two Slytherins were the only ones.

Harry suddenly realised that in the drama of the previous day, he had completely forgotten to tell Ron and Hermione about Ginny's pregnancy. Making his mind up on the spot, Harry said, "Listen, you two, do you want to come round for dinner tomorrow night?"

"Yes, we'd love to," said Hermione, and Ron nodded in agreement.

"Good, there are a few things I'd like to discuss – plus, you haven't visited for a while anyway."

"What's the security on the house like? Will we not be able to Apparate?" asked Hermione.

"Well, I got Ginny to put anti-Apparition jinxes on the house the night I was attacked because, well, I couldn't be positive that you two were safe," said Harry. Ron had been Harry's Secret-Keeper ever since he'd moved into Godric's Hollow six years ago. "But now that things have settled down a bit, we've taken the jinxes off. No one but you two could Apparate in anyway."

This was the other reason why Harry wanted to invite Ron and Hermione – he realised that if he was in danger, it was only the next logical step for the enemy, if they knew what they were doing, to attack Ron and Hermione, or torture them for information on his whereabouts. Harry needed to arrange their protection.

When the lunch break ended, Harry parted with Ron and Hermione and headed for Kingsley's office.

Before he could knock on the varnished oak door, it opened from the inside and a trickle of wizards and witches leaked out, chatting in undertones and comparing scrawled notes on pieces of parchment as they walked.

As Harry saw the last of them depart, Kingsley appeared in the doorway.

"Harry?" said Kingsley, spotting him as he was about to close the door.

"Hi, Kingsley, I was wondering if I could have a quick chat?"

"Yes, come in, I don't have any more meetings for an hour."

Harry entered the large, richly furnished room, which seemed much more spacious than yesterday – probably because it didn't have a crowd of people round the table.

"Reporters…" sighed Kingsley, offering Harry a seat. "They were probing for details and names of the guards killed in Azkaban. I had to tell them, of course. We moved the bodies this morning and it was hard enough without photographers buzzing round too."

Harry thought he'd get straight to the point. "Kingsley... I think I know who one of my attackers was. The one that spoke to me."

"Go on," said Kingsley, raising his eyebrows.

"I think it was Zacharias Smith. You know, the guy from the Magical Law Department, here at the Ministry."

"I see. Do you want permission to question him? Have you told Savage?"

"No, Kingsley. I think we should just keep an eye on him, see if he's meeting anyone. And I came straight to you, instead of Savage, because I'd rather it stayed between us. We're in a difficult position – there are obviously some people we can't trust."

"I want you to know, Harry, that I trust Savage completely. He may be a little direct or paranoid about his leadership at times, but his heart is in the right place."

"Oh, I agree," said Harry quickly. "I just meant that I thought we should keep this off the record. There could be others within the Ministry spying for information."

Kingsley contemplated this and nodded slowly. "Yes, well you have my permission to do your own poking around, if that helps. That's the only way we can keep it truly off the record."

"Well, Savage is obviously working us pretty hard at the moment, but I'll do what I can. In the meantime, just be on your guard around Smith." said Harry.

"Thank you for confiding this, Harry."

Kingsley shook Harry's hand, and Harry departed for the Auror Office, hoping Savage hadn't noticed his brief absence.

* *

Harry didn't get home until seven that night. The Senior Aurors had been piecing together all the information they could throughout the day, brainstorming possible motives and suspects for the murders in Azkaban and Harry's attack.

Ginny, whose Quidditch training had been cancelled over the last two days due to fears of security, was sat in the living room reading the latest issue of _Which Broomstick?_ when Harry arrived.

"There you are," said Ginny, beaming, standing up to hug Harry. "I'm starving, what's kept me waiting?"

"Most people are doing overtime at the moment," sighed Harry, as Ginny strolled into the kitchen to heat the dinner she had already prepared.

"Better than sitting on your bum all day," came Ginny's voice from the kitchen, as Harry gladly slouched into an armchair and flicked open a copy of the _Evening Prophet_. Already depressed enough about the Azkaban scandal, Harry skipped through the first few pages – which included a nasty article, by Rita Skeeter, about how Kingsley was losing his touch and that Dementors needed to be reinstated to Azkaban – hoping to find some smaller stories that might be of interest.

His eyes paused on the headline _Healers Confused over Confused Patients_…

"Harry, come on, it's ready," called Ginny, and Harry left the _Prophet_ open and followed the heavenly scent of chicken pie and treacle tart to the kitchen.

They discussed Ginny's upcoming Quidditch match in the candlelight as they ate. The Auror department had arranged to send guards to supervise Ginny's remaining practises throughout the week, which were to resume tomorrow, and Ginny was hoping to win the final game of the season against Puddlemere United that coming Sunday, which would seal the Cup for the Harpies for the first time in 52 years.

"I just hope Wood's not recovered from that Bludger yet," said Ginny. "He cost us the League when we played them last year – we scored just once all match, remember?"

"You'll do fine," smiled Harry. "Your Seeker this year has been incredible. As long as she gets an early catch, it's all yours."

"Yeah, especially when she's up against Malfoy. He's caught the Snitch just twice all seas –" Ginny stopped abruptly as Harry dropped his goblet and sprayed pumpkin juice over the table.

"Harry! What's wrong?"

"Malfoy. He used to be a Death Eater, too. But he's not in Azkaban, is he!"

Ginny's eyes widened.

"What if they went after Malfoy too?" exclaimed Harry, standing up. "I'll have to check, now. I'm going to his house."

"But, Harry – you should get backup or something, it could be dangerous… I mean, for all we know, Malfoy could be behind those murders himself."

"Draco? No, I trust him. I can't exactly say I love him, but I'm sure he's on our side now. And I'm not going to the Ministry for help because there could be spies."

"Well then, I'm coming with you at least," said Ginny, fetching her cloak from the hall.

"No. In case it is dangerous, I don't want you there. You're pregnant, for a start."

Ginny scowled. "I've been stuck in here all day, and now you expect me to wait around a bit longer not knowing if you're even safe?"

Harry hated making Ginny unhappy, but he couldn't justify allowing her to come.

"Look, Gin, I'm not doing this just because I feel like it. I'm an Auror; it's my job, I have a duty. Kingsley told me earlier on to go poking around myself if I have to. I won't be long, I only have to check that he's still alive…"

"Fine," snapped Ginny. "But you can take Ron with you."

"OK, good idea."

Harry ran upstairs and rummaged through his bedroom drawer, withdrawing the two-way mirror he used for communicating with Ron and Hermione

"Ron Weasley," stated Harry, and a minute later Ron's freckled face emerged on the dusty mirror face.

"Harry? What's wrong?" said Ron, his voice as clear as it would be if he was stood right next to Harry.

"I've just thought – Malfoy wasn't in prison with the other old Death Eaters. What if the new Death Eaters are after him, too?"

"Blimey, I didn't think of that."

"I'm going to call at his house now, to make sure he's alright. Will you come with me?"

"Yeah, course."

"OK, just Apparate straight here when you're ready and we'll go together."

"I'll be there in a few minutes then, I'll need to tell Hermione."

* *

Five minutes later, Ron materialised in Harry's kitchen. He was still wearing his black Auror robes.

Although she was still wearing a faint scowl, Ginny placed her arms around Harry and kissed him on the cheek (Ron looked away determinedly at this point).

"We'll be back soon," said Harry, returning her kiss and then drawing away.

"Just be careful."

Harry linked arms with Ron and they Disapparated together. After a few seconds of feeling like he was being forced through a tight rubber tube, a sensation he was so used to that he barely even noticed it these days, Harry emerged into the cool night air. After lighting their wand-tips, Harry and Ron found themselves on a mud pathway surrounded by bushes and trees.

"How do you even know where Malfoy lives?" asked Ron, almost accusingly, as he followed Harry toward a wooden gate where the trees ended.

"I was invited to his wedding a couple of years ago."

"Oh yeah, and where was my invite?" asked Ron sarcastically.

"He probably never forgave you for calling him a two-faced bastard and punching him in the face," said Harry, opening the wooden gate.

Ron laughed. "Well, I had a point though, didn't –"

Ron stopped dead next to Harry. Ahead of them was not the neat, thatched cottage that Harry remembered, but a mass of ash, burnt wood, strewn straw and blasted fragments of stone. Large patches of grass were bare and blackened around the debris, as if a massive fire had been raging. It was more a wreckage site than the remains of a cottage.

Harry glanced at Ron, who nodded, and they stepped into the clearing toward the rubble, not noticing the four broomsticks circling overhead.


End file.
